


Illuminations on a Rainy Day

by plinys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Trapped in Airport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in an airport at two am with a delayed flight, Devan becomes preoccupied with the woman sitting across from him, who looks oddly familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminations on a Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariel2me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/gifts).



> So I heard it was [Ariel](http://ariel2me.tumblr.com/)'s birthday and tried to write something for the occasion.

It is nearing two in the morning and Devan would have very much liked to be in a bed somewhere, it need not even be his own bed, at this point anything would have been better than the plastic airport chair that he sits upon, unable to get comfortable no matter how much he tries. And he certain has tried for the better part of the hour, ever since the plane landed early in Pentos, the pilot coming over the speaker system to alert them that due to the storm cluster currently making a mess of the eastern coast of Westeros, their crossing of the Narrow Sea would be a bit delayed.

He wouldn’t have minded quite so much were it not for the hour, his return home was not so pressing that he could not wait until the next day and certainly Devan has considered just getting himself a hotel room and camping out for a few days, calling his brother with sincere apologies for why he might be missing his bachelor party, though the party itself was still a few days off and the wedding a good week away.

Or he would have, had he been able to get any cell service at all, but as he looks down at his phone Devan cannot help himself from frowning when the screen informs him that he has absolutely no service.

Though Devan shuffles the blame for that onto his service provider rather than the poor weather.

For there’s a young woman sitting in the chairs across the way from him, a phone pressed up against her ear that she talks into in a nervous and hushed tone. She’s turned away from him, folded up into the chair like a small child would, her dark coat drapes over her like a blanket and dark hair falls over the side of her face.

He cannot make out the entirety of her conversation, but she seems to get more and more distressed as the time goes on, slowly her voice raises, “I understand this is one of the biggest storms the Stormlands have seen in years,” she says, “but I _have_ to be in Storm’s End tomorrow morning.” The other side of the conversation is a mystery to Devan, but he can see from the way her face falls that whatever the answer was it hadn’t been a good one. And he watches as she tersely replies, “thank you for your time,” before snapping her phone shut.

(Briefly Devan wonders what sort of person still owns a flip phone in this day and age.)  

Finished with her conversation, he watches as the woman turns around. Her blue eyes meet his for the briefest of moments and Devan could have sworn that they had known each other; the familiarity in her gaze leaves him dumbstruck from his position on the plastic airport chair. Though not dumbstruck enough that he misses the way she flinches back from his gaze.

The words, “I’m sorry,” are out of Devan’s lips before he can stop them.

“I’m used to it,” the woman replies with barely any inflection over her words.

For a second he is confused about to ask what she means by that, but then his gaze wanders from her startling eyes and he notices what she must have assumed his gaze was for. Dark scarring that had been on the side of her face previously angled away from her.

“That was not why,” Devan starts, his words coming before his thoughts for a moment. He took a breath, slowly down before speaking again. “In truth, I was mesmerized by your beauty.”

She does not laugh or fall over herself like many other women would have done had Devan remarked that to them, though also she does not hit him, which in this case is a plus side since on occasion such things have occurred when his intentions to flatter beautiful women were mistook. Instead the woman across from him raises a single eyebrow in question.

“Your eyes are very blue,” he answers lamely, but that seems to do the trick.

“Have we met?”

“I do not believe so,” she answers, through her brows furrow as she seems to take him in, and instinctively Devan sits up straighter, “however there is familiarity in your face.”

“I thought the same,” Devan replies quickly, a bright smile filling out his face when he notices the slightest upward quirk of her lips.

Her smile is the most beautiful thing, small as it is, Devan feels a pull inside of him at the slightest look of it, he would fight a thousand wars for the chance of seeing that smile once more.

“Are you heading home or from,” he asks, though he already has a hunch towards the answer, if what he had eavesdropped from her conversation was any indication.

“I’m heading home home,” she says, “or I would be if the sky ever clears up.”

“What brought you to Essos then,” Devan asks curiosity getting the better of him.

“A friend of mine attends university in Lys,” she answers, “he had invited me up for some theatre performance of his, it was quite lovely.”

Ah, so that was it. A boyfriend no doubt, from the way her face lit up speaking about this university student from Lys. He desperately tries to quench the awful feeling that arises in the center of his chest as those thoughts. Devan has just barely met her, he should have expected that such a beautiful woman would not be single.

“He’s my cousin,” she corrects, and Devan has to duck his head from embarrassment as surely his features had given away his thoughts, if she had felt the need to reassure him thusly.

“Oh, I hadn’t, I,” Devan mumbles.

“Of course not.”

“Honestly.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t believe me, either,” Devan admits, and watches with delight as her lips quirk up once more, though she hides her face behind a hand.

“What about your then,” she asks, “are you heading home as well?”

“Home, technically,” Devan says, though he hasn’t been back there in many years, it seems almost odd to call the place home, instead of saying any of that though he simple says, “my brother is getting married in Rainwood next week.”

There’s something for a second where she seems to realize something, pausing and quickly looking him over once more, before a realization appears to hit her. Something that should probably have worried him. Though when the next words out of her lips come rushed, “is your brother named Matthos, Matthos Seaworth,” all of his thoughts just sort of stopped.

“Yes,” Devan answers just as quickly, “do you know each other?”

“He works for my father,” she replies, “we were invited to the wedding as well.”

Works for her father, Devan pauses for a moment, searching his brain for a tidbit of information about what exactly his brother did nowadays. Their correspondence had been lacking over the years, Devan failing to keep up the communication when he had headed over to Essos for work, but he had certain managed to pick up enough that he should at least remember where he worked.

Then it hits him, and of course he knew her, how could he not, though the years had certainly passed, “Shireen?”

“Devan,” she asks in turn, though her tone is far more confident than his own.

He wonders now how he did not notice it before, the familiarity in those eyes of his childhood playmate. Had the years passed so quickly that he had forgotten the girl from the gardens? That after all those business trips that he had followed after his father before being shuffled off the play with the other children, her name would have escaped him now.

No, now that he thought about it he certainly remembered her, they were mere children sitting the gardens as the sunset, and she pointed out all of the stars to him, told stories she read from books that Devan had scoured libraries for when they returned from their trips.

She had been quite sick then, housebound by her illness, locked away like a princess in a tower he had joked back then, and the young girl had shaken her head insisting that her hair wasn’t nearly long enough for her to be Rapunzel.

And Devan had soon grown old enough that he could be left at home alone with his brothers, no longer needing constant supervision, instead relishing in his freedom.

It had been years since those days of his youth, years that he had nearly forgotten about, until at two in the morning a reminder found its way back into his life.  

“It’s good to see you,” Devan answers, when he realizes his pause has been too long, though Shireen seems unperturbed by his delay, in fact, if he was not mistaken he would think that the brief hint of smile he had seen before had somehow grown into a bright one reserved just for him.

“Yes,” Shireen replies, “it is good to see you as well.”

And when the hours pass later, nearing the early morning, time passing without Devan even noticing too caught up in his conversation, there not sign sun peeking through the clouds and a flight attendant’s voice announces that their flight would continue to be delayed.

Oddly enough he doesn’t feel too bad and instead says, “I hear Pentos is nice this time of year, and technically the wedding isn’t until next weekend.”

“I was supposed to meet my father for lunch,” Shireen frowns, “but given the weather…”

“He will understand, surely?”

“Surely,” she replies, lighter than before, “and I have heard stories about the wonders of Pentos.”

“Do any of those include good coffee shops,” Devan asks desperately.

And she laughs the softest of laugh before says, “I might know a few.”

 

 

 


End file.
